


Secular Music

by Nightdog_Barks



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Bar Mitzvah/Bat Mitzvah, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Hand Jobs, Love, Love Bites, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-31
Updated: 2007-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-18 08:36:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Jimmy," House whispered.  "I think you're a little too tense."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Secular Music

_**Secular Music**_  
 **TITLE:** Secular Music  
 **AUTHOR:** [](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/profile)[**nightdog_writes**](http://nightdog-writes.livejournal.com/)  
 **PAIRING:** House/Wilson, with a mention of Cuddy and an OC.  
 **RATING:** NC-17.  
 **WARNINGS:** Yes, for a graphic sexual situation.  
 **SPOILERS:** None  
 **SUMMARY:** _"Jimmy," House whispered. "I think you're a little too tense."_  
 **DISCLAIMER:** Don't own 'em. Never will.  
 **AUTHOR NOTES:** This is an AU in which House and Wilson are in an established, stable relationship. It is **not** a Dark!Fic. The title is taken from Goethe; the full quote is referenced at the end of the story.  
 **BETA:** My incredible First Readers, with especial thanks to [](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/profile)[**deelaundry**](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/) and [](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/profile)[**topaz_eyes**](http://topaz-eyes.livejournal.com/) for their last-minute checkovers this morning.

 **Secular Music**

  
Later, Wilson would blame it all on House's bathrobe.

"House? Where's my robe?" He pawed through the closet again. He knew it wouldn't be there -- or at least it _shouldn't_ \-- bathrobes were meant to be hung on the back of the bathroom door, not in a _regular_ clothes closet, where it might get the other clothes damp and mildewy. But that was the problem -- his robe _wasn't_ on the back of the bathroom door.

Wilson stood for a moment, fuming. He glanced in the mirror, not liking what he saw. He was still a little wet from the shower, water droplets beaded on his shoulders, and his hair was standing up in unruly tufts like an angry badger's. And he was cold; the moist bathtowel tucked around his waist was actually leaching the warmth from his body.

 _"House!"_

"What?"

House's voice, drifting in from the living room, sounded entirely unperturbed. Obviously this was all his doing.

"What have you done with my robe, and why is it so _cold_ in here?"

"I might have given it to one of the homeless guys down the street."

 _"What?"_

"Well, it was ugly! You knew I hated that robe!"

Wilson took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "House, my _mother_ gave me that robe!"

"It was purple! Who has a purple robe?"

"It was _lilac!"_

"Purple."

"Oh, God. Fine, it was purple." Wilson strode back into the warm bathroom and yanked the robe that _was_ there off its hook. "I'm wearing your robe," he shouted. "And you never said why it was so cold in here. Didn't you turn the heat on?"

"Wouldn't have done any good."

 _No,_ Wilson thought. _Please don't tell me --_

"I think I forgot to pay the gas bill."

 _\-- that._

"House," Wilson groaned.

"Well, it's your own fault," came the defensive reply. "I _told_ you not to go to that two-week conference. I probably forgot a _lot_ of things in those two weeks!"

Still in the bathroom, Wilson pulled the lapels of House's robe up to his face and screamed silently, then stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. House's scent filled his nostrils, and soon enough his respiration slowed to a more normal rate.

The robe was old -- House had had it ever since Wilson had known him, and the once navy terrycloth had faded over the years to the kind of sunshot cloud blue one saw sometimes in Vermeer paintings. The tiny loops of terrycloth were frayed, feather-soft nubbins, and wearing the robe was like taking shelter in the embrace of some warm, comforting, fuzzy animal.

Not that Wilson would ever do that.

Wilson sighed, feeling a little calmer. Until he stepped into the living room.

House was there, all right, sitting on the couch, flipping idly through the lineup of Saturday early-morning cartoons.

"Your _clothes!"_

"What? What's wrong with my clothes?" House looked down at his plain black t-shirt and good blue jeans.

"You're _not dressed!"_

"Says the man wearing a tatty old bathrobe. _My_ tatty old bathrobe, I might add."

"House. You can't wear jeans and a t-shirt to your son's bar mitzvah."

"Who'll see? You're going to be the one up there reciting the blessings."

"Cuddy wants you there too. You're his _biological_ father."

"You're right."

"I'm ... right?"

"Yup. I'm Ben's biological father, and apparently he's inherited _my_ sense of fashion, which means he's not going to _care_ how I'm dressed. Now calm down. We've got lots of time anyway, the thing doesn't even start until ten."

Wilson took a couple of slow, careful breaths. "The _'thing,'_ as you put it, is a _religious ceremony."_

"Tell that to the caterer for the party tonight," House said sourly. "We're dropping six grand on that kid and is he grateful? He just wants the X-Box Super Ten." He continued flipping channels.

"House!" Determined to make House see reason, Wilson crossed the short distance to the couch and snatched the remote from House's hand. He turned towards the TV and pointed the control at it --

And found himself caught from behind and pulled down, a maneuver that reminded him instantly of the all the unwary antelopes he'd seen taken by lions and leopards on those Discovery Channel programs House liked to watch. In his hurry to get going, he'd somehow forgotten the cardinal rule of House Kingdom:

 _Never turn your back on him._

"Damn it, House," Wilson grumbled and tried to stand, but House had both arms around him and simply tightened his grip. _"House!"_ His arms pinned to his sides, Wilson struggled a bit but soon gave up. Years of leaning on that cane, using his shoulders to shift his stance, had given House the upper-body strength of a middleweight boxer.

Wilson sat still for a moment, taking in his situation. House had scooted back on the couch in the moment of capture, so he was seated between House's spread legs. House's arms were wrapped around his chest in an unbreakable bearhug, and House's chin was resting on his right shoulder, his breath warming Wilson's ear. His eyes were fixed on the TV, and all his attention appeared to be focused on a decades-old rerun of _Jonny Quest._

"House," Wilson said gently.

"Hmmmm?"

Wilson could feel the minute vibrations from House's response through the tip of his right clavicle and forced himself to suppress a shiver. House's breath puffed softly on his ear.

"House, we don't have time for this right now."

House sighed. "Will you just calm down for a minute? Jesus, we have _lots_ of time. Or should I not say 'Jesus' this morning?"

Wilson could practically hear the smirk in his voice; he grit his teeth and started struggling again. "Damn it, House!"

The warm breath was back, closer than before. "Jimmy," House whispered. "I think you're a little too tense." And he took Wilson's right earlobe between his teeth and bit down, very gently.

"Ah," Wilson said. "Um ... " In a curiously distracted way, he noticed he'd stopped struggling.

"That's better," House murmured. Holding his captive in place with his left arm, he used the other to tug the robe off Wilson's right shoulder. Working slowly, he used his tongue and lips to trace a languid path up the side of Wilson's throat, finishing at the earlobe he'd nipped a second before.

 _"Ah,"_ Wilson said again. He didn't seem to be able to form a word any more complex than that.

"Better?"

Taking Wilson's hitched breath as a yes, House tucked his right hand under the robe and began to gently rub and squeeze Wilson's left nipple.

"Oh, God," Wilson moaned. "House ... "

"Shhhh," House whispered. Releasing his hold for a moment, he slipped the robe off both of Wilson's shoulders and yanked the cinch-tie free. He kept his teeth nibbling gently on the back of Wilson's neck as he tugged Wilson's arms free of the robe's sleeves. He lifted his head, prompting a soft, frustrated protest, and quickly used the soft terrycloth cinch to loosely tie Wilson's wrists together behind his back. He looped the rest of the long length of fabric around Wilson's chest and ribs to secure his arms, and finished the whole intricate cat's cradle with a simple shoelace knot.

"House, no -- wait a minute -- "

It was too late. House had already enveloped him in a bearhug again.

Wilson tested his restraints; although House hadn't pulled the cinch tight, he _had_ made sure Wilson wouldn't be able to wriggle free. He jumped as first one, then the other of House's hands drifted to his nipples.

"Is this okay?" House breathed into his right ear. "I'll stop if you say so."

House's fingers began to ghost over his nipples, barely brushing them. Exquisite sparks of pleasure began to shoot up Wilson's chest, and he moaned softly, tilting his head back.

House chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

Wilson leaned back as House's hands began to roam over his naked torso. House was playing him like some strange instrument made of flesh and bone; his fingers traced an _adagio_ over his chest, an _allegretto_ across his ribs. They plucked gently at his nipples, strummed through his sparse chest hair and windmilled downwards in a classic guitar riff to push the rest of the robe away from his lap.

And all the while House's mouth was working, sucking and tugging and licking Wilson's throat, his jawline, his cheek. He used one hand to turn Wilson's head toward him, and held him in place with the other as he kissed him, gently at first, then with more force as he thrust his tongue into Wilson's mouth. He dropped his right hand and began, almost casually, to stroke Wilson's penis.

 _"Oh!"_ Wilson was twisting now, trying to get more sensation, more of House's hands _playing_ him. He pushed forward, creating a little space between himself and House, and attempted to use his bound hands to tug House's t-shirt up and touch his bare skin. House growled softly and pulled him sharply back.

House's mouth left his, settling on the tender skin between neck and shoulder. His jaws closed over one small spot and he began to lick and suck. At the same time he closed his hand over Wilson's erect penis and rubbed the ball of his thumb over the tip.

Wilson strained against his bonds; he was aware on some level that he was making whining sounds deep in his throat but he couldn't stop.

House shifted smoothly, ducked his head and took Wilson's right nipple in his mouth; the fingers of his left hand tapped out a simple tune on the other.

Wilson's back arched; he felt House's chest, strong and solid against his shoulder blades.

The right hand continued to gently rub his penis. Wilson thrust into it, rocking his hips as House's fingers spread the pre-ejaculate for lubrication.

 _"Oh, God,"_ he moaned. _"Oh God yes please yes ... "_

He felt House's lips curve in a smile against his chest, and then House's mouth was at his ear again, and his breath was hot as he began to whisper.

"Come for me now, come on, do it -- "

The hand tightened, the even strokes sped up, and Wilson felt House's little finger tickle his balls.

Wilson whined; the pressure was building, he squeezed his eyes shut and thrust blindly, frantically into the warm, wet fist.

"Come on, Jimmy, come _on -- "_

Wilson cried out as House's teeth abruptly closed over the base of his throat in a sudden, painful bite. The jolt shot all the way down his spine; his back arched like a drawn bow and a keening wail burst from deep within his chest as he pumped furiously into House's closed hand.

 _"Oh,"_ he whimpered. _"Oh, oh, oh ... "_

"That's it," House murmured. "Okay, okay," he soothed, gentling Wilson through the last rolling waves of pleasure.

"Oh," Wilson mumbled.

"Better now?" House grinned and used a corner of the robe to scrub at his now-wet and sticky hand.

"I think you broke me," Wilson moaned. "What's Cuddy going to say when she sees this ... this _vampire bite_ you gave me?"

"She won't see it," House asserted, pulling the shoelace knot loose and starting to unloop the terrycloth tie from Wilson's wrists and arms. "I'll stand on your right side when we make _aliyah_ and block her view. What Cuddy doesn't know won't hurt her."

Wilson turned to him in surprise. "So you _will_ do it? And you'll make the blessing like I taught you?"

House rolled his eyes. "Duh," he said. "Why should the bar mitzvah boy have all the fun?" He tossed the cinch tie onto the coffee table and stretched lazily, looking for all the world like an extraordinarily large, self-satisfied feline.

"Besides," he mused, "maybe this way the kid'll let me play with his new X-Box."

~ fin

  
 _Music is either sacred or secular. The sacred agrees with its dignity, and here has its greatest effect on life, an effect that remains the same through all ages and epochs. Secular music should be cheerful throughout._  
\-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 1749 - 1832


End file.
